


And In Time The Ice Will Melt

by BlackUnicorn



Series: Savior Of The Broken, The Beaten, And The Damned [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angry Steve Rogers, Artist Steve Rogers, Attempt at Humor, BAMF Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Character Development, Developing Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Hurt Steve Rogers, M/M, Mainly With Steve, Minor Violence, Non-Serum Steve Rogers/Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes | Shrinkyclinks, POV Bucky Barnes, POV Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Sam Wilson is So Done, Sam Wilson is a Gift, Sassy Steve Rogers, So is that Tag, Sort of anyway, Steve Rogers is a little shit, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Strangers to Lovers, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, blink and you miss it angst, they take care of each other, why is that not a tag?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-14
Updated: 2018-03-14
Packaged: 2019-03-31 09:51:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13972506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackUnicorn/pseuds/BlackUnicorn
Summary: The Winter Soldier had left Russia under a new name, a new identity - he was starting a new life in America, trying to learn how to be a person. The skinny blond who kept getting himself into dangerous situation just so happened to be the best teacher he could have asked for.Or:This is the story of how the art student Steve Rogers accidentally adopted a Russian ex - assassin, you know...as you do.





	1. Something To Desire

**Author's Note:**

> This is a prequel to "I'm A Fool For You Anyway"
> 
> Captain America doesn't exist.  
> HYDRA is just your usual evil secret organisation that make a living with assassinations, espionage and terrorrism.

The Winter Soldier stood in the smoking ruins of the building that had once been the main base of HYDRA. His clothes were torn, dirty and drenched in blood; the metal plates of his arm whirred as they calibrated and recalibrated into place.

He calculated fifteen minutes until someone would react to the sudden radio silence. Plenty of time to get away.

There was a mission. One last mission, before he would leave and never come back.

_Cut off one head, two more will grow in its place._

But he had already ripped out the heart and now the creature was dying. All he had to do was give it the final blow.

He looked at the ground to the backpack that contained his life. His new life. Clothes, weapons, food, a new identity.

He wasn’t the Winter Soldier anymore. He was James Buchanan Barnes, born on the 3rd of October, 1984, and he was going home. Wherever that was.

* * *

 

Steve would, to his dying day, deny any responsibility for what had happened. Seriously, it wasn’t his fault that people were assholes. It certainly wasn’t his fault that this particular asshole had never learned the meaning of the word ‘no’. So, what had he been supposed to do?

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he asked while the woman quietly slipped away out of the alley, “She said ‘no’, fucking respect that you fucking asshole.”

“What’d you just call me?”, the Asshole growled, taking a step towards Steve who stood his ground.

“Want me to say it again?”

“I dare you”

“You’re a pathetic, pitiful, selfish, _bastard_ who is so absorbed in his so – called masculinity that he can’t see beyond his own dick.” Steve explained, not even caring that the guy was easily a foot taller than him and twice his weight, or that Steve was still recovering from the bruised ribs he had gotten in his last fight a few days ago, or that his inhaler was lying on his coffee table at home, or – the punch came before Steve could react, hitting him square in the face and the familiar _crack_ , followed by a warm wetness trickling down his chin, told him that his nose was broken. Again. _Sam’s gonna kill me,_ he thought but raised his fists nonetheless and successfully dodged the next blow. He managed to get a hit of his own, which probably hurt his fist more than the Asshole’s face but whatever. This was a matter of principle. Another punch knocked Steve back on his ass and the Asshole grinned, “Not so tough now, are you?”

Steve stood up and was just about to retort something witty when a shadow landed in front of him, followed by a pained whelp, “Are you?” the shadow snarled, glaring at the Asshole on the floor who was scrabbling back on his feet and quickly making his exit.

“Where the hell are you going, you coward?” Steve yelled after him, “Get the fuck back here, I wasn’t finished with you yet!” he moved forward but a single arm on his torso held him back. A strong arm. A firm am. “Let go off me!” Immediately the arm vanished and Steve took a closer look at the shadow. Well, it was a man. A tall man, clad in black jeans and a black hoodie with the hood pulled into his face, “I didn’t need you help, I had it under control.” Steve snapped at the man and from what Steve could see of his face, it stayed completely blank while he stared at Steve, “Jerk.” Steve muttered before walking straight past the stranger and making his way home.

* * *

 

James Buchanan Barnes had landed in Washington D.C. of all places. He didn’t even know why, but it seemed as good a place as any other. Washington was big and anonymous and made it easy to vanish in the crowd. No one as much as looked at him.

James had only been in the city for a week but had already memorized the outlay of every street and side alley. He slept in a different place every night, and stole food from small shops or vendors at random. It was a start and James could concentrate on figuring out what the end goal was.

Until he met the blonde guy, that was.

James had just been sitting on a roof top, eating an apple, when he had heard the commotion from underneath. A small, blonde, young man and a tall, bulky one. James watched for a few seconds, wondering why they would fight, why the blonde guy wasn’t running, getting to safety – he obviously couldn’t fight. There was no technique, no finesse. He held his fists all wrong and his feet were planted to the ground like a tree. He was obviously an idiot. The idiot received another blow from the big guy and fell to the ground and James could hear the words that were being spoken, “Not so tough now, are you?”

James didn’t know why, he honestly didn’t – this wasn’t his fight – but he slid of the roof onto the fire escape without making a sound and landed between the idiot and the big guy and gave out one single punch that had the big guy reeling back. It hadn’t even been a hard punch.

“Are you?” he asked and saw with grim satisfaction as the guy’s eyes went wide with fear before he ran.

“Where the hell are you going, you coward?” the idiot screamed and started following but James didn’t let him. For some reason he _couldn’t_ let him. The idiot yelled and cursed and claimed that he had had ‘it under control’. He was angry.

Anger was something James understood but the reason behind this particular anger? That was a mystery to James. A mystery he wanted to solve.

“Jerk” the idiot muttered before walking away and James registered the way he walked, as though he was in pain but didn’t want to show it. He held himself straight, his chin raised high in confidence and James could almost see the challenging look in his eyes; daring people to judge him. To fight him.

The idiot was a mystery to James. A mystery he wanted to solve.

* * *

 

It happened again. Not the fight – well, that too, but that wasn’t the problem because Steve was always involved in some kind of fight – no, no what happened again was the weird stranger appearing out of the blue and taking Steve’s fight away.

“Are you serious?” Steve asked, the anger in his voice getting lost in the wheezing of his breath, “I had ‘em on the ropes.” Again, the stranger didn’t respond, simply looked at Steve with wide eyes, as if he was trying to read Steve, “What?” Steve snapped, almost hoping to get something out of him because this, this silent scrutiny, was just creepy. But there was nothing and after another moment of staring, Steve simply huffed and walked away.

Once he was home, he stepped out of his clothes and into the shower, enjoying the warmth of the water on his skin. He still had ten minutes left before Sam would come over for their weekly dinner and movie night. When he stepped out the shower, Steve quickly took care of his cuts and bruises and put on some clean clothes and was finished just in time as Sam let himself in with his spare key Steve had given him months ago.

“Seriously?” the taller man looked less than impressed when he saw Steve’s busted lip, “Again?”

“He was being transphobic.”, Steve said defensively but Sam just shook his head and muttered something that sounded like “Whatever” and “Stupid white ass”. Coming from anyone else, Steve would have started another fight but with Sam it was different. They had met during Steve’s first year in college four years ago, on a protest for LGBT rights. Sam was a few years older than Steve, a war veteran working at the VA, and just as much for social justice as Steve, just not as aggressive. He usually did his best to keep Steve away from the big fights – not very successfully, mind you, but he tried.

“What’d ya bring?”, Steve asked, eyes the plastic bag in Sam’s hand with the take out.

“Indian.” Sam answered, “And Pulp Fiction.”

It was a tradition for them, every Friday night Sam came over with food and a movie and the two friends would stay up until late stuffing themselves with whatever Sam had brought, talking and laughing and watching TV. Steve didn’t even remember anymore how it had started but it had stuck and now Steve wouldn’t miss it for the world.

“You set up the movie, I’ll get the rest,” he said and wandered into the small kitchen.

They had watched Pulp Fiction at least ten times already but it was still one of their favorites and soon enough they found themselves quoting the lines along with the actors. It was nice. A good night. And Steve almost forgot about Handsome and Broody. But only almost.

* * *

 

On some level, James was aware that what he was doing was not okay. From a social norms point of view, anyway. But James was also aware that those norms only applied to people and he didn’t really see himself as one of those just yet – so here he was - sitting on the fire escape of an old building looking into the window of the opposite house, specifically the second window to the left on the third floor; apartment of Steven Grand Rogers, 22 years old, studying art at the George Washington University.

James had been watching Steve for the past week, ever since he had interrupted that first fight. There had been more fights. But only today, had he decided to step in again because it looked like Steve had gotten himself into something he couldn’t possibly win. Steve was an intriguing person. Despite his small figure he had more courage than anyone James had met, he seemed to have clear opinions and values – both things James didn’t really understand but he was determined to learn. Steve was also a kind person. A helpful person. He was passionate, yet gentle and soft. A complete idiot, yet incredibly intelligent.

He was an oxymoron. An enigma wrapped up in a riddle, and James found himself captivated by this odd, beautiful man.

* * *

 

The third time it happened, it didn’t happen at all. It had been a month since Steve had seen the strange guy but sometimes his mind still wandered back to him. Wondering.

The third time it happened, it was Steve who came to his rescue.

He was just walking home from work when he heard the noise. Distinct sounds of a fight. And because Steve wouldn’t be Steve if he had ignored it, he went to check. What he saw was not what he had been prepared to find; there were four men lying on the ground, unconscious or maybe dead, Steve didn’t want to think about that too closely. There was a fifth still standing, weapon drawn and pointed at a man slumped down against a wall, a pained expression on his face, “Game over, Soldier.” the man with the gun said. The other one raised his head and Steve had to suppress a gasp when he recognized him. He was wearing different clothes this time. No hood to cover his face. But it was the look in his eyes that made Steve react – defeat, fear, weariness.

Picking up a pole from the ground Steve walked up to the guy threatening Steve’s stranger and aimed for his head. With a low groan, the man sank to the floor, but Steve had already directed his attention back to Handsome and Broody.

“Shit,” he cursed, “You’re bleeding.”

Unsurprisingly the guy didn’t respond, but he also didn’t fight back when Steve pulled him up and practically dragged him away from the alley, across the street, towards Steve’s apartment.

Inside, Steve laid the guy down on his sofa, not even caring for the blood stains that would definitely stay behind, and rushed into his bathroom where he kept his first aid kit. Once again, he thanked every entity out there that his mum had been a nurse and taught him everything there was to know.

“Hey! Hey, don’t fall asleep on me.” he demanded when he got back, “Come one, pal, stay with me.”

The guy muttered something under his breath that sounded like Russian but Steve didn’t speak Russian, so he couldn’t be sure.

“Alright, let’s have a look at this, shall we?”

Despite his heart that was beating in his throat, Steve’s hands were steady as he cut through the fabric of the shirt, revealing a shot wound in the shoulder. Through and through.

“See? That doesn’t look so bad,” Steve muttered, ignoring the death glare he received while reaching for the rubbing alcohol, “Now, this is gonna hurt like a bitch. But you look like a tough guy, so that shouldn’t be a problem, right?” Another death glare.

_Please don’t hit me. Please don’t hit me. Please don’t hit me._

For the guy’s credit, he didn’t scream when Steve started cleaning the wound, simply let out a sharp hiss through his teeth.

“Almost done.”

There was an almost soothing familiarity in this, treating someone’s wound, even if it was usually his own, and soon enough the guy had a clean bandage wrapped around his shoulder. Steve didn’t receive a ‘thanks’, not that he had expected one, but it would have been nice.

“You wanna drink something? Eat something?” No answer. “I’ll take that as a yes then.”

Five minutes later, Steve set down a glass of water and a sandwich in front of the guy; he didn’t touch either.

“Right…”, Steve shifted on his feet awkwardly, “I guess I’ll just…you can stay the night if you want.”

He made his retreat to his bedroom and locked the door, just in case.

* * *

 

James waited for Steve to leave the room before turning towards the food. He was a bit confused. Why had Steve helped him?

The fact that someone had found him wasn’t even that surprising. It had had to happen sooner or later and James wasn’t all too worried. He had dealt with them. Now, Steve rushing in with an iron pole…that was something else completely. Something stupid and reckless. James kind of wanted to lecture him on self – preservation.

It took almost an hour until the thirst and hunger in James won over the suspicioun and he carefully sipped at the water and nibbled at the sandwich and before he knew it both was gone, along with the painkillers that had been lying on the table.

 _I should leave,_ James thought.

But the apartment was warm and the sofa comfortable and…he felt…safe?

He was certain that Steve did not pose any threat and even if – even if Steve wanted to hurt him, he could have done so already. Could have just left him in the alley. Could have just walked away. But he didn’t. And for some reason James trusted him.


	2. Counting The Moments

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning:  
> There is a small asthma attack at the end of this chapter

The guy was still there when Steve got up the next morning. Not that Steve minded, exactly, he was just surprised. With delight, he noticed that the sandwich was gone and the glass empty, so he went and made breakfast for two before he would have to leave for college.

When Steve reemerged from the kitchen with a smoking plate of eggs and bacon, and a cup of coffee, the guy was awake, sitting on the sofa and once again watching him with wide, attentive eyes.

“Breakfast?”, Steve asked and was just about to step closer, when – “What the – did you just _growl_ at me?”, Steve asked incredulously, “Rude.”

So instead of handing the guy his breakfast he simply put it down on the table and went back to the kitchen to get his own. Steve decided to stay in the kitchen because he didn’t think that the guy would appreciate it if he tried to sit next to him on the sofa. _Fair enough._

Now, the thing was, he did have to go to college and leaving some random stranger in his apartment wasn’t exactly something he wanted to do – _but_ – he also couldn’t just throw him out with a fucking bullet wound in his shoulder. Contemplating his options, Steve watched the guy. He really was handsome. Tall and well – build, with long dark hair and mesmerizing blue eyes. He obviously hadn’t shaved in days, if the dark stubble on his face was anything to go by, and he was still wearing the wrecked shirt from last night.

_Ahh, fuck it._ Steve thought. He was way ahead in his classes anyway and it wasn’t like he made a habit out of skipping college, so one day wouldn’t make a difference. After finishing his breakfast, Steve turned his entire room upside down for some clothes the guy could wear. _Aha_! There, on the bottom of his closet was a t - shirt that someone must have left behind at some point. It was a Katy Perry shirt, so it definitely wasn’t Sam. Maybe John…Steve remembered that his ex – boyfriend had loved that kind of music. Finding a pair of pants was trickier but eventually, Steve found a pair of sweatpants that he had gotten at a Secret Santa and that were way too big for him.

“Hey, so…I’ve got clothes for you, and maybe you wanna take a shower. And shave. I don’t know…just a suggestion.” The guy seemed to consider him for a moment before nodding ever so slightly. “Grand. I’ll get you a towel, show you where the bathroom is and I can help with the bandage if you want.” The guy shook his head – _okay then_ – and took the clothes from Steve before going to the bathroom. Steve blinked. This was getting weirder and weirder by the second.

“Towel,” he said to himself. “Towel.”

Steve knocked on the door, a large, yellow towel in his hand. It didn’t take long until he heard the lock turn and Steve opened the door to give the guy the towel – and froze. _Is that a…metal arm?_ Steve was painfully aware that he was staring but, _come one_! A metal arm?! _Really?_ Without saying a word, the guy snatched the towel from Steve’s hand and shut the door in his face. Steve blinked. This was going to be a loooong day.

* * *

 

Steve was…something.

He kept talking, apparently not even expecting James to answer anymore. He talked and talked and talked and didn’t seem to care that there was absolutely no response. Not that James wasn’t listening. He was. He absorbed everything the blond threw at him. Catalogued the words, the facial expressions, the body language. He studied Steve like he would study his targets except… _except_ …Steve wasn’t his target.

Steve was…something.

Everything he did, he did with a purpose. With careful attention, and burning passion. It had taken James a day to find Steve’s sketch books, a collection of stunning drawings of seemingly random things that had caught Steve’s eye. There was also something that looked like a story. A comic. A superhero during the second world war fighting the Nazis. Another thing James filed under ‘Peculiar Thing About Steve Rogers’ – that file was getting bigger and bigger by the second, but the probably strangest thing was that Steve hadn’t asked James to leave yet. It had been six days since Steve had pulled him out of that alley but he was still sleeping on Steve’s sofa, eating Steve’s food.

It was a Friday. A Friday afternoon, and James was sitting on the sofa as per usual, while Steve sat at the kitchen table over an essay he had to write for college.

“Oh shit.” James tensed at the sudden outburst. He didn’t turn around but he could hear Steve shuffling around, digging though his bag until he apparently found what he had been looking for, “Hey Sam,” he croaked, his voice sounding much rougher than usually, “Yeah, no, sorry. I don’t think it’s a good idea. Don’t wanna make you sick as well, y’know?”, Steve coughed. It was a fake cough. “Nah, I’ll be fine. Seriously.” Another cough. “Don’t worry. I’ll call you if I need anything…yes _mum_.”

James could hear Steve ending the call and lying the phone down on the table.

“Thanks.” The word had left his mouth without much thought and he could practically see Steve freeze, but the blond didn’t say anything, probably just stared at the back of James’ head while his brain went into overdrive.

_Idiot._

* * *

 

Steve had nearly had a heart attack the fist time the Jerk (that’s what Steve secretly called the guy, anyway) spoke. It hadn’t been much, just a simple “Thanks” after Steve had cancelled movie night with Sam, but that had been more than he had said for an entire week. By now, they had worked their way up to one – word – conversations. It was progress, Steve supposed.

It usually went like this:

“Do you have a name?”

“Yes”

“Are you gonna tell me?”

“No.”

“Can I sit?”

“Yes.”

Because, yeah, Steve was allowed back on his sofa now. That had been an accomplishment as well.

Steve had no idea what had happened to the guy but it must have been bad because… _fuck_ …his nightmares almost gave Steve nightmares. But he didn’t ask. It wasn’t his place and if the Jerk wanted to talk, he knew by now that Steve was there to listen.

Two weeks. That’s how long the Jerk had already stayed in Steve’s apartment and Steve…well…he had gotten attached. Kind of.

As grumpy and broody as the guy was, Steve had begun to appreciate his presence. Just having someone there made him feel less lonely. It wasn’t that he was unhappy. No. Steve had friends. There was Sam, obviously; then there were James and Owen, a couple from one of his art classes; there was Keira; there was Tara; Fiona; Nathan; Alex…all very nice people but… _but_ …except for Sam…not really his friends? Not close friends anyway.

So yeah, Steve was lonely and he was mature enough to admit that.

So here he was, two weeks after taking in some stranger that was bleeding out in an alley, going through said stranger’s backpack. Steve felt bad for it, like, really bad, but he couldn’t help himself. He just wanted…something…a name…an address…anything. He should have known better of course because the Jerk seemed to have a sixth sense when it came to Steve.

“No.”

Steve’s heart actually stopped for the split of a second when he heard that deep, smooth voice behind his back. Steve turned around and saw the Jerk standing in the bathroom door, practically naked except for the towel around his hip, dark hair dripping onto the floor. He didn’t look angry, not really, mostly…curious? Annoyed?

“I – er – shit…look…I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have done that, _but_ …and don’t get me wrong – I really don’t mind you staying here, _but_ …I don’t even know your name for fuck’s sake.”

For one horrible moment Steve thought he had fucked up. Tremendously fucked up. And then – “Barnes.” He answered, “James Buchanan Barnes.”

Steve blinked, “Thank you.” He said, “And I’m Steve, by the way. Steve Rogers.”

“Yeah…I know.” And maybe Steve was imagining it but there was the shadow of a smile around the guy’s lips. _James Buchanan Barnes_. It sounded like a good name. A strong name.

_Bucky._

* * *

 

Steve called him Bucky; it felt weird but he wasn’t complaining. There were a lot of weird things that Bucky wasn’t complaining about. Like, for example, the way Steve cooked for him every day, or how Steve never seemed to be afraid of him at all no matter how murderous Bucky looked or how much he lashed out after an especially violent nightmare, or the list Steve had given him after realizing that Bucky had no idea about most of modern pop culture.

It was another Friday. The fourth Friday in a row on which Steve had called his friend to cancel their plans.

“Why?” Bucky asked after an hour and next to him, the blond stilled mid – movement and Bucky...Bucky did too. That had been the first question he had ever directed at Steve, maybe the first question he had ever directed at anyone...

“Why what?”, Steve asked back after a beat.

“Sam.”, Bucky muttered, “You keep cancelling on him. Why?”

He was getting better at forming long sentences, too.

“You don’t seem like a social butterfly to me,” Steve shrugged like it was the most obvious explanation in the world, “Do you _want_ him to come over?” It was a challenge, and Bucky couldn’t help but admire the guts this small man had – no one had ever to even look at the Winter Soldier the wrong way – or maybe it was stupidity. Probably both.

“No.”

* * *

 

After a month of living with Bucky, Steve was beginning to seriously question his sanity because it couldn’t be normal to develop a crush on the mysterious stranger with a metal arm who was sleeping on your couch. Steve was sure of it. And yet here he was, sitting on his bed, sketch book on his lap and carefully stroking the pencil over the paper. He had Bucky’s face memorized by now. The shape of his lips, the sharpness of his jawline, the depth in his eyes. Bucky was breathtakingly beautiful and the first five times Steve had drawn him, he had been able to brush it off as artistic interest, however now, after almost filling a whole book with sketches of the man, Steve had to admit that it might be more than that.

_Well shit._

Steve tried to remember the last time he had had sex but…yeah that would have been with John, and John hadn’t been around for a year and it wasn’t like people were lining up for Steve to date. Not with the way he looked.

Steve was also beginning to feel bad for lying to Sam. Sam who had done so much for him. Sam who was kind and understanding and patient. A literal saint.

A shriek from the living room had Steve jumping from his bed and in a matter of seconds he was tearing open his bedroom door – and nearly shrieked himself. Bucky was where he always was, on the couch, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers and a black tank top and…holding a gun in his hand. Said gun was pointed at the door, and Steve found out the source of the shriek because there, half in the hallway half in the apartment, stood Sam, the spare key still in his hand, his eyes fixed on the weapon that was aimed at him.

“Steve.” Sam pressed out through clenched teeth, waking Steve up from his trance.

“Bucky put the gun down.” he snapped and walked further into the room, to his surprise and Sam’s relief, Bucky complied and placed the gun under the pillow where he had probably hidden it. “What are you doing here Sam?”

“I _was_ going check up on you and make sure nothing had happened…with good reason apparently.” Now that Sam seemed to have recovered from the shock, he was scowling at Bucky who was scowling right back.

“It’s not what it looks like.” Steve blurted out and that finally got Sam to turn his head and look at Steve incredulously.

“It _looks_ like you’ve been lying to me and like there’s a guy sleeping on your sofa with a fucking gun under the fucking pillow.”

“Okay…it’s exactly what it looks like,” Steve admitted, “But I can explain.”

Sam didn’t look impressed but closed the door behind himself nonetheless, “This better be a damn good explanation, Rogers.” He grumbled and Steve took a deep breath before plunging right into the story.

* * *

 

Of course Bucky had done his homework on Sam Wilson and the man appeared decent enough but that didn’t mean that he had to like him. While Steve had been talking, Sam had been watching the ex – assassin on the couch with attentive, wary eyes.

“ – so anyway, Bucky kind of lives here now…” Steve ended and the three men fell into a thick, uncomfortable silence.

“What the actual fuck, Rogers?” Sam eventually spoke up, toeing the line between exasperated and outright furious.

“What? What was I supposed to do? Just leave him there to die?” Steve countered.

“How about calling an ambulance?”

“Yeah…well…” Steve shrugged, giving the impression like that idea hadn’t even crossed his mind. It probably hadn’t. Bucky was kind of grateful for that; being in a hospital would have been far too exposing and the HYDRA agents that were still out there would have found him in a matter of hours.

“Y’know…” Sam started, “I really have no idea how you are still alive…” he shook his head in defeat and sighed, finally breaking eye contact with Bucky to run both of his hands over his face.

“This is not Steve’s fault.” Everyone perked up at Bucky’s words and even the man himself was a little bit surprised. He hadn’t planned on speaking at all.

“Huh…well won’t you look at that,” Sam grimaced, “It speaks.”

“Sam!” Steve cried out.

“What? He’s been sitting there all this time, scowling and probably planning the five best ways to kill me with a paperclip.”

“Seven.”

“Excuse me?”

“I know seven ways to kill you with a paperclip. Nine if I get creative.” He shot the other man a, what he knew to be, feral grin and Sam visibly paled, his exes growing wide, “I could also always just shoot you. Less of a mess that way.”

“Steve …” Sam said very slowly, “What have you done?”

“He’s not gonna kill you Sam,” and although Bucky couldn’t really see Steve’s face he could hear the eye roll, “You’re not gonna kill him…are you?” There was a hint of uncertainty in Steve’s voice. The faintest trace of doubt. Fear. And for some reason that bothered Bucky more than the possibility of killing yet another innocent person. It made him hesitate and it unnerved him, but despite that he simply shrugged and answered, “I haven’t decided yet.” It was safer that way.

“Okay, who the hell are you, really?” Sam demanded, “I’m serious man, you don’t tell me, I’mma call the police on your ass.”

Bucky tensed, his hand twitching towards the pillow where the gun was hidden. It would so easy. Sam would be dead before he knew what was happening and Bucky would be gone before the body ever hit the ground but…

“You’re not gonna do that.” The conviction in Steve’s voice surprised Bucky, “I’m not gonna let you.”

“Oh come on, Steve –“

“No, Sam. Bucky saved my ass twice and there are obviously people who have it out for him. He hasn’t hurt anybody since I’ve met him.”

“Which was, when? A month ago? Doesn’t really prove anything Steve.”

“I don’t care. He stays here as long as he wants and you are not going to do anything about it.” The blonde’s voice was sharp like acid, his hands balled into fists and there was a fire burning in his eyes. Bucky had the sudden urge to kiss him.

“Alright, alright,” Sam raised his hands in a placating gesture, “Whatever, man. I just hope you know what you’re doing.” He stood up, “For all our sakes.” He added and then turned towards the door to leave. Before he was gone he turned around one last time, looking directly at Bucky, “I don’t give a shit what creative ways you know to kill me with, you hurt this man in any way, I will hunt you down and I will make you suffer for it.” Bucky had been trained since birth to read people. To spot a liar when he saw one. Sam Wilson, was telling the truth.

* * *

 

“Shit.” Steve cursed. “Fucking, crapping, buggering _bullshit_!”

If you had asked him the reason for his outburst, Steve honestly wouldn’t have been able to tell you. Just, that there had been a reason why he hadn’t wanted Sam to find out. Not now anyway. Not like this. Sam was one of the best people he knew but he was protective over Steve and well…

“Fuck!”

He kicked out and something shuttered to the floor but Steve couldn’t find it in himself to care, in fact he couldn’t find it in himself to care about anything right now, he... _Oh god, no…_ He couldn’t breathe. His whole body was incredibly tense, his lungs too tight to draw in the oxygen he needed. Steve could feel himself stumble. Suddenly there was a weight on his shoulders – a touch – gently pressing him down, sitting him on the floor. His head was coaxed forward between his knees. A hand began rubbing small circles on his back. A soft voice speaking into his ear, “Breathe, Stevie. Just Breathe. You have to relax. Just relax and breathe. Just like that…steady does it.” His inhaler was shoved into his mouth releasing the medicine into his lungs. “There we go. You’re doing great Steve. Just remember to breathe.”

Slowly…very slowly…Steve relaxed, all but sagging against the firm body holding him, cradling him. He hadn’t had an asthma attack that bad in years. It was more than a bit worrisome.

“Thanks.” He croaked, gaining back his composure bit by bit and by the time he was able to sit up on his own, Bucky was already gone, back on his spot on the couch like nothing had happened.

“Be more careful.” It sounded like an order. A command. But there was something in the brunette’s eyes that Steve hadn’t seen before. Something that looked like concern and relief. It made Bucky’s whole face appear softer, somehow. Younger.

Steve wanted to tell him to _back off_ , he wanted to say, _don’t tell me what to do_ , but all that came out was a weak, “I will.” And Bucky gave him a sharp nod.

It was all very confusing and Steve had no idea what to make of it. Of him. Bucky.


	3. Still I Find Salvation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a teeny tiny panic attack? Nothing explicit and it's mentioned before it actually happens...

All his life, all the Winter Soldier had been good for had been violence. The Winter Solider had been a weapon.

James Buchanan Barnes. Bucky. He was a person. He was becoming a person. And he had a list; a list of things he could do that did not involve hurting someone or obeying orders.

 

  1. I can protect Steve from bullies
  2. I can make Steve laugh
  3. I can comfort Steve when he is upset
  4. I can help Steve when he has an asthma attack
  5. I can take care of Steve when he is sick



 

Those were all good things, Bucky thought. The concept of good and bad still felt foreign at times but he was getting better at it. Better at being a person. And Steve was a good teacher. And for the first time in his life, the former Winter Solider was scared. Terrified.

Steve was in the hospital after getting beaten up by no less then five guys. One of them had gotten away. Three of them were in the hospital as well. The fifth one was dead.

 

  1. I can protect Steve from bullies and assholes
  2. I can make Steve laugh
  3. I can comfort Steve when he is upset
  4. I can help Steve when he has an asthma attack
  5. I can take care of Steve when he is sick



 

He had to remind himself of those things. Those good things. Things that made him human, while the machines surrounding Steve’s bed were beeping a steady rhythm, feeding Bucky’s anxiety while at the same time reassuring him that Steve was still alive.

 

  1. I can protect Steve from bullies and assholes
  2. I can make Steve laugh
  3. I can comfort Steve when he is upset
  4. I can help Steve when he has an asthma attack
  5. I can take care of Steve when he is sick



 

And yet…he had killed another one. He had taken the life of a young man without thinking about it, just because he had been hurting Steve. _His_ Steve. And Bucky felt no remorse. Not really. He would do it again. And again. And again. And he supposed that was probably one of those things that would be considered ‘bad’.

 _I’m a bad person._ He realized. _But at least I’m a person._

“Oh for fuck’s sake…”

Bucky jumped at the voice and cursed himself for being distracted, for allowing someone to sneak up on him. Even if it was just Sam who looked at him with an unreadable expression. There was disbelief in his eyes, curiosity, anger, concern. “Dr. Yan called me, said you brought him in.” He explained and Bucky nodded, “I did.”

“Why are you still here?” Sam asked, sounding genuinely interested.

“Steve.” It was all Bucky could say at the moment. All he could think. Like his brain was frozen, disabling any other thoughts.

Fear truly was a strange thing. Bucky didn’t like it.

“What happened?”

 _Questions require answers._ Bucky told himself., but it was so hard to actually get words out and it took him several moments to stop the broken record in his head – _SteveSteveSteveSteveSteveSteveSte-_

“Steve left the apartment at exactly 1854 to get snacks from the shop down the street. Walking distance approximately 5 minutes. When at 1914, Steve was not back, I called him on his phone which he did not answer. I decided to go out and check if something had happened. I found Steve in an alley, cornered by five males, one of which was carrying a baseball bat. I neutralized hostiles one to four, hostile five managed to escape. I called an ambulance and stayed with Steve until the paramedics arrived.” Bucky was aware that his voice sounded distant. Analyzing. The way he would have spoken during a debriefing after a mission. He was also aware that Sam had become very still, his brows furrowed, while he stared at Bucky.

“Okay…” Sam let out a deep breath, “Okay. I – You saved his life, y’know? Thank you.”

Bucky looked up at the man. Sam was older, he carried himself with the straightness of a soldier, and there was something in his eyes that reminded Bucky of himself every time he looked in the mirror. The look of a man who had seen too much.

Bucky wanted to reply something, anything, but he couldn’t. He felt…lost…directionless…and scared. So, so scared.

* * *

 

Steve woke up to the familiar soundtrack of a hospital room and a throbbing head. He let out a low groan, _what the fuck happened?_

“Steve.” A deep voice said from somewhere to his right. It was a familiar voice.

“Buck?” Steve blinked against the violent light and was able to make out a shape sitting on a chair, “Wha’ happened?”

“Baseball bat.” Bucky’s voice was dry, almost passive, but Steve could still hear the relief underneath, and he would have laughed if he hadn’t been in such pain.

“Oh, that’s alright. Don’t mind me.”

“Sam?”

“On your left.” Carefully, Steve turned his head and saw his best friend leaning against the wall, smiling brightly, “How are you feeling, pal?”

“Head hurts.”

“Yeah…that happens when someone hits you with a bat.” Steve blinked again. Everything felt a bit fuzzy and he couldn’t remember getting into a fight. “You’ll be alright, by the way. Your boy over there saved your life.”, Sam nodded towards Bucky while throwing Steve a pointed look.

“Don’t mention it.”, Bucky muttered, and was it just Steve or did he sound…bashful?

* * *

 

It took almost a week until Steve was allowed to leave the hospital and by the time he was, something had changed between them. Steve talked a little bit less and instead watched Bucky with attentive eyes, while Bucky found himself talking more and more. Asking questions, telling stories. He felt himself relaxing, letting his guard down. It was thrilling and strange and terrifying but…he trusted Steve Rogers.

Bucky would have thought that, once Steve was better, the fear would subdue. It didn’t. If anything, it got stronger: Tightening its grip on Bucky, twisting and clawing and drilling its way deeper and deeper. He hadn’t understood it at first, still didn’t understand it completely but…there was a part of him that feared Steve would leave. Send him away. The blond still hadn’t asked what had happened to Bucky but Bucky could see it in his eyes. The questions. The things Bucky did not say.

_He deserves to know._

The problem was that Bucky liked Steve. He couldn’t remember ever liking anybody but he _liked_ Steve.

Little Steve.

Feisty Steve.

Brave Steve.

“You can ask, you know.” Bucky muttered the night after Steve had been released from the hospital, “About me. You can ask. I can’t promise to tell you everything and you are going to look at me differently but you have a right to know.”

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to, Buck.” Steve replied just as softly, “It’s your choice.”

Bucky nodded. _My choice._ He liked the sound of that. “I was born in Russia,” he began, “Or I think I was. They never told me. My documents, my passport…it’s all fake. I made them so I could get away. The men that cornered me? When you found me? They were there to take me back. Punish me. Make me compliant again.” Faint images flashed through Bucky’s mind. His training, his handlers, his missions. “I’m a killer.” He announced, carefully watching Steve’s face for his reaction. There was none. “I was raised an assassin. Trained from birth to be a weapon. A spy. Whatever they needed. I followed orders without questions. They called me the Winter Soldier. I lost my arm on a mission. They gave me a new one. I was the best.”

“What happened?”

“Three months ago, I left. I…I had doubts. Questions. My last mission was a member of the Russian Supreme Court. He had a son. Six years old. My orders were no witnesses. I broke into the house, shot him and his wife and…there he was. That little boy. He looked at me with big eyes. Light brown eyes. He wasn’t crying. He wasn’t even scared. He just stood there and looked at me.” Bucky swallowed thickly, “I couldn’t do it. I left. A week later I burned down the base. I killed every last one of them. Then I came here.”

It was an incredibly shortened version but it was enough. Bucky could feel hot tears streaming down his face, he was trembling, his breath was too shallow, his heartrate too fast.

 _Panic attack._ He registered dimly.

He was sitting on the couch but the ground under his feet was moving, slipping away. The walls were coming closer and closer and closer –

“Bucky. Bucky, please look at me.” Steve was kneeling in front of him, close but not quiet touching, “Buck you…I...you’re panicking, Buck, and I need you to calm down. Can you do that for me? Calm down? Can I touch you?” Bucky nodded, not even sure what he was agreeing to, just that he needed _something_ , and then there was a pair of hands on his shoulders, gentle yet strong. “Bucky…Bucky breathe with me, okay? Just breathe with me. It’s gonna be okay.” His hand was placed on Steve’s chest and Bucky could feel the steady heartbeat behind the ribcage, could feel the rising and falling and rising and falling – “Good, Bucky. Real good…See? That wasn’t so bad.”, Steve muttered and Bucky…Bucky laughed.

Bucky had never laughed before in his life.

* * *

For a moment Steve just watched while the other man laughed. It was the most beautiful sound in the world. It was also contagious.

He had absolutely no idea how long it had taken for both of them to calm down but once they had, Bucky seemed…different. There was a light in his eyes that hadn’t been there before.

“Bucky, I…” Steve began, trying to bring his thoughts into the right order, “I don’t know what to say, to be honest. I can’t tell you I understand what you’re going through, ‘cause I don’t. I have no idea. But I’m willing to learn. You’re my friend, Buck.”

 “I’m not sure if I’m worth your friendship.”

“Well tough, ‘cause you already have it.” Steve retorted with a small smile and _Jesus Christ_ …all he wanted to do was wrap Bucky up in a blanket and cuddle him to death. “No take – backs.”

_And…fuck…I’m falling for an ex – assassin._

But for some reason, that didn’t bother Steve nearly as much as it probably should.

“Steve…” Bucky looked at him, considered him, and Steve had the feeling as if the other man could see inside his head, “I trust you, Steve.”

Steve gulped because that…that felt like a huge deal.

“I trust you too, Bucky.” And he did, Steve realized. He really did.

Steve would have expected things to change after that. But they didn’t. Not really, anyway. There were subtle things. Barely noticeable. But Steve saw it anyway; saw it in the way Bucky smiled every now in then, in the way he slept more, the way he sometimes referred to his past. It felt nice. Natural. And Steve found himself forgetting that he was technically living with one of the most dangerous men on earth…because he trusted Bucky.

* * *

 

It was a slow progress but the longer Bucky lived with Steve, the more he felt the Winter Solider faint away, until he was nothing more than a memory. A dark stain on his past. And Steve…Steve was the light. He burned brighter than anything he had ever seen and he lit a fire in Bucky that warmed him and made him feel invincible.

They were friends. But they were also so much more. Bucky had never thought that physical contact could be so comforting, that a simple hug could feel so good – and Steve…Steve seemed to have lost any reservations. The blond pulled him into tight embraces whenever Bucky had a nightmare, he leaned his head against Bucky’s shoulder when they watched a movie, he nuzzled up against Bucky’s broader body when he was sick or tired, and Bucky…Bucky let him. More so, he enjoyed it, bathed in the feeling of Steve’s attention, sought it out and held it close to his heart.

It was a slow progress but the ice that had made him the Winter Soldier was melting, allowing him to be James Buchanan Barnes.


	4. But Take Me Home

“Every time, Rogers, every goddam time.”, Bucky grumbled under his breath while he supported a limping Steve.

“I had ‘em on the ropes.” Steve slurred, and Bucky very pointedly said nothing. It was probably for the best because the alternative would have been another lecture on Steve’s lack of self – preservation.

Once they were home, Bucky sat Steve down on the toilet and began to methodically undress him and clean his wounds. Bucky was good at that.

“Wait here.” Bucky ordered. It wasn’t like Steve was actually capable of going anywhere in his state but he nodded anyway. “Open your mouth.” A tablet was placed on his tongue, “Now drink and swallow.”. Steve did as he was told. He knew better than to argue. It been a year since Bucky had moved in with him – or rather since Steve had taken him in – and the passive aggressive care taking of one Bucky Barnes was something he had learned to appreciate, even though Steve would never admit that out loud.

Bucky carried him to his bed and tucked him in, carefully avoiding the bruises all over Steve’s body.

“Will you stay?”, Steve asked, his eyes already half shut. He knew what Bucky’s answer would be because it was always his answer. Every time Steve was like this he would ask Bucky to stay and every time Bucky would smile faintly and mutter –

“Of course, idiot.”

* * *

 

“Will you stay?”

“Of course, idiot.”

Bucky settled down in the bed next to Steve and carefully listened as his wheezing breath evened out until he was asleep. Even with a black eye and a split lip, Steve was beautiful. Especially when he was asleep. Bucky had come to understand that Steve was an angry man, but when he slept, he looked relaxed and happy. It was a good look on him.

“You know he’s in love with you, right?” Sam had asked him a few weeks ago.

Of course Bucky knew, had always known. He had been trained to read people and Steve was like an open book. It had been simple attraction at first, attraction had turned into affection, had turned into trust, had turned into love.

“They said love is for children.” Bucky had answered.

“What do _you_ say?”

Despite their dramatic first meeting, Bucky had come to appreciate Sam Wilson. He was a smart man, and he always asked the right questions.

_What do_ you _say?_

It was a question he asked himself more and more these days.

_“Will you stay?”_

_“Of course, idiot.”_

And maybe that was the answer. Maybe had always been the answer.

That very first day, one year ago, Bucky had made a choice; he had chosen to stay. He would always choose to stay.

* * *

 

Steve woke up warm and comfortable. His body ached but apart from that he felt surprisingly good. Next to him, Bucky was breathing steadily but he was not asleep; they had shared the bed enough times for Steve to know the difference. Not yet ready to open his eyes, Steve shifted closer to the warm body and buries his face in the crook of Bucky’s neck and breathed him in. It was a pleasant smell, sweet and intoxicating. Bucky tightened his hold on Steve a little bit, pulling the blond even closer, and Steve could feel the faintest brush of lips on the top of his head.

“Buck?”, he mumbled.

“Good morning, Steve.”, Bucky replied just as softly, his breath caressing Steve’s skin. And now, Steve did open his eyes, and was met by Bucky’s face mere inches away. There was an incredibly tender expression, vulnerable in way that made Steve’s heart ache, “Солнышко.”

Steve frowned lightly; despite his efforts he couldn’t speak any Russian despite a few chosen swear words, but that…that had not been a swear word. And he wanted to ask what it meant but he couldn’t. Not with Bucky looking at him like that. The pure intensity of Bucky’s gaze was still something Steve didn’t know how to deal with on some days, and right now all of Bucky’s attention was on Steve. “Думаю я тебя люблю… и это очень пугает меня.” It sounded like a secret, uttered into the hot air between them, meant for nobody but Steve and even though Steve didn't understand the words he understood their meaning.

“Buck?” Steve whispered, his heart pounding in his chest, “Bucky, I…” _I really want to kiss you right now. I’m madly in love with you. I want to spent the rest of my life by your side._ He didn’t say any of that though. It was like the words got stuck in his throat, making it hard to breathe. But Bucky seemed to understand anyway because he was Bucky and he _always_ understood, “Me too, Stevie,” he aspirated, “Me too.”

And, _oh shit_ , Bucky was kissing him or maybe Steve was kissing Bucky or maybe it didn’t matter because this was all Steve had wanted for months and months on end. Bucky tasted just like he smelled, and Steve thought he might get drunk on the feeling of Bucky’s lips and tongue and the strong arms holding him close, like something precious.

* * *

 

Steve kissed like he did all things in live; with rapid concentration and passion, giving everything he had, unleashing the force of nature that he was. It was addicting and intoxicating, and Bucky didn’t think he’d ever be able to stop again. He didn’t want to ever stop again. But of course, they had to, and when they did come up for air, Steve’s face was flushed, his lips red and raw, his breath coming out in short, heavy pants. Bucky suspected that he wasn’t doing any better.

“Is this okay?” Steve asked carefully.

“Yes. Yes, it’s more than okay.”

Instead of another response, Steve’s face broke into a blinding smile, and he leaned in for another kiss and Bucky couldn’t do anything but follow his example. Couldn’t do anything but get lost in the feeling of this beautiful man against him, in the overwhelming feeling of warmth that spread inside of Bucky.

He wasn’t the Winter Soldier anymore. He was James Buchanan Barnes, born on the 3rd of October, 1984, and he had finally come home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Russian isn't the best so if I made any mistakes please do correct me.
> 
> Солнышко = Sun or Sunshine  
> Думаю я тебя люблю… и это очень пугает меня. = I think I love you...and it really scares me.
> 
> ***  
> [Find me on Tumblr =)](https://dreamworldvictim.tumblr.com/)


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